


The Svobodny El-fov seek help

by LadyBinx



Series: Lucinda Baker [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinx/pseuds/LadyBinx
Summary: The Svobodny El-fov seek the help of William, and Lucinda is reunited with Lvov





	

**Author's Note:**

> I set my friend a challenge a few years ago to write me a story set within the HP world that did not include the Golden Trio. These are those stories.

I was hanging out in the Leaky Cauldron one night, having concluded some successful business from my usual booth and lingering afterwards to treat myself to a couple of beers. Now, I don’t want to be indelicate but I needed to use the bathroom. I threaded through the crowd of usual customers and regulars, with their increasingly grotesque faces and grim conversations, and entered the firm steel-reinforced door into the toilets themselves.

I could tell something was wrong immediately as the door shut behind me with a firm slam. I looked behind me, just in time to see something disappear at the top of my vision. It looked like a skinny elf clad in leather armour, and I could see the marks where it had dug its nails into the brickwork above the door frame. They were still smoking, the brickwork burnt where the magic had made the holes. In the next second, everything moved very fast. There was another elf apparating behind me, and I already had my wand out and pointed up at the ceiling where he was extinguishing the light. He disappeared again before I could get a shot off. I was plunged into darkness. The only light in the room now was the dim evening twilight filtering through the vent high on the wall behind the cubicles.

The elf appeared again in front of me suddenly, in a swirl of magic, a long silvery rapier pointed straight at my throat.

“Stay,” he said, in a growl. I looked down the long metal blade to the face of the creature, seeing his determined eyes glinting with inner power in the darkness. He was wearing a metal helmet with thick, curved horns on either side, and oily, slick leather covering his torso. Two short daggers hung from its belt and a series of throwing knifes were holstered in a thick leather belt wrapped over one shoulder.

“… Alright,” I said, through a suddenly dry mouth.

“Are you Lucinda Baker?” he asked, in a thick Russian accent.

“Who wants to know?” I replied.

“I am from Svobodny El-fov. Pakobna sent me.”

“You know Pakobna?” I asked, remembering the Russian elves whose freedom I had been instrumental in achieving.

The ‘dom el-fov’, or house-elves, had then started calling themselves the ‘Svobodny El-fov’, or the free elves, complete with capital letters. Unlike the amiable elves that had been freed in Britain they were a vicious, violent, bloodthirsty race of creatures eager to revenge themselves for their long years of gruesome, brutal oppression. Pakobna had been their leader during the first battle at Durmstrang, and I’d heard rumours that he was leading them in a full war against the Russian wizards.

“Yes, Pakobna.”

“Well, this is a fine way to introduce yourself,” I said, gingerly reaching up to the point of the sword. The elf hissed warningly and waved the blade at me gently. I speak some elvish, which is why I’d been so useful during their revolution – indeed, without me it wouldn’t have been possible. I had won their friendship in Russia with a few words of the ancient elf language that the elves had so long been forbidden from speaking, passing on the words in whispers, in the darkness of parlours and wine cellars. There were very few wizards or witches who even knew the tongue existed, let alone could speak it, but my long friendship with several house-elves has yielded countless benefits over the years.

To the elf with the sword at my neck, I said the elvish word for cooperation. I added the word for friendship, with an optimistic upward inflection.

“So you are Lucinda Baker,” he said, satisfied. He lowered the sword and from a pouch on his belt he removed a piece of paper. It was a drawing covered with moving runes and arithmancy symbols. “I am looking for Professor Doctor William Grey,” said the elf, pushing the drawing towards me.

Someone rattled the door to the toilet and said something I couldn’t make out. The elf had locked the door somehow. I ignored the noise outside and held the eyes of the elf in front of me.

“Why?” I demanded.

“We need his help,” said the elf.

“Why him?”

“Because he is a friend to us, and because he made this,” he said, waving the piece of paper again.

“So you mean him no harm?”

“You and him helped free my people. Myself, I would never harm either of you.”

“We can just go to his house,” I said uncertainly, “Why didn’t you try that first?”

“What is his address?” the elf demanded, slashing at the air with his sword.

“I’ll take you there! Just take it easy with the sword and everything. Good grief.”

“I am being followed. It is not safe for you to be seen with me.”

“Followed, eh? Well, that’s an issue, but I’m certainly not having you surprise him like you surprised me,” I said firmly.

“Very well. Meet me in the alley behind this building. Then we shall go to find Professor Doctor Grey.”

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“I am called Yarost.”

He vanished and the light reignited. I walked up to the door, inspecting it, and noticed he had dug one of this throwing knives deep into the door frame to prevent it opening. I pulled it out with a grunt of effort and inspected the sharp blade. I tucked it into my pocket as the door creaked open and the hunchbacked barman Tom entered, looking at me quizzically. The only signs the elf had ever been here were the marks above the door frame where he’d dug his fingers into the brickwork.

“Excuse me,” I said as I squeezed past. Several witches were gathered outside in a queue. I hurried out of the pub, wondering what I’d found myself involved in this time.

 

*

 

We hurried through the alleys and underpasses of London. I always know when someone is following me, and I can tell when I’m being watched. I felt that creeping sensation in the back of your brain, the tingling down your spine, the unconsciously adopted deliberation to every action. Yarost the elf apparated between nooks and crannies, avoiding the muggles. I tried to explain to him any location he could apparate the both of us to that would be near William’s house, but the conversation took the length of the walk.

We approached William’s black front door while the night was still young. The elf beside me was looking more and more reluctant, and when we reached the door he didn’t seem capable of knocking. I knocked for him, and Hoppy answered.

“Mistress Baker,” said William’s house-elf, beaming with pleasure to see me, “And a guest. Whom shall I say is calling?” she asked, while Yarost bunched up with tension beside me.

“This is Yarost. He’s a friend of a friend, from Russia. It seems he’s come a long way to see Professor Doctor Grey,” I said.

“Very well. You may come in, I suppose,” she said with a pointed sniff.

The hallway was piled high with books and trinkets, and I saw he’d framed his medals and qualification certificates since I’d last visited. The air smelt of magic and dusty, papery books. The floorboards creaked and the books shifted dangerously, like avalanches waiting to happen. His house wasn’t really the kind of place to have visitors, nor capable of accommodating more than one person.

William came hurrying down the stairs, adjusting his eye patch and pulling on a suit jacket over his shirt stained with potions, with Hoppy following him. He looked at the Russian elf with his good eye, sizing him up.

“Well now, hello there.”

“William, this is Yarost,” I said, introducing the two. William reached out to shake the elf’s hand, and the elf leapt back, afraid, quickly whisking out a throwing knife from his bandolier.

“Woah,” said William. I saw his eye widen with astonishment, and he quickly withdrew his hand. The elf crouched there awkwardly, panting with sudden adrenaline with a knife in one hand. But then he coughed apologetically and tucked the blade away again.

“Professor Doctor, we need your help,” the elf said.

“Uh, okay, why don’t you come on through to the living room then, I suppose,” said William, gesturing for the elf to go first. He followed, and I made to but Hoppy tugged on my sleeve.

“What do you know about him?” she asked me.

“Well, nothing yet. He hasn’t had a chance to explain very much. I was hoping I could at least hear some of it,” I said, pulling my sleeve out of Hoppy’s grasp and patting her on the shoulder so that I followed her.

“Dear me, bringing scoundrels and knife-wielding crazy people into my house,” she muttered quietly.

“ _ Your _ house?” I joked as we entered the living room.

Yarost was peering out of the curtains of the window suspiciously, and William was offering him something to drink from the sideboard, rooting around amongst the books and empty bottles. Yarost was clambering over the furniture like an insect until he settled in one of the armchairs, his sword pointing into the rug with his spindly hands resting on top. Hoppy tutted judgementally while William found a bottle that still had something left.

“Yarost, how about some brandy?”

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“It’s a spirit. Here, you can try it while you explain why you want my help,” William said, pouring a large measure into a tumbler. Yarost took it in one hand and sniffed it, making a disgusted face. He rested it in his lap and took out the piece of paper he had shown me.

“You made this,” he said, and gave William the paper. William moved some books off one of the armchairs, balancing them dangerously on a stack leaning against the wall, and then flopped down into the chair throwing up a small cloud of dust. He inspected the piece of paper closely, and the silence dragged out.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, breaking the tension and unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

“I come for help,” he said.

“Yes, but why him? Why me? What does the paper mean?” I said impatiently.

“We remember you. You gave us our first freedom. Since then, we have struggled against our cruel oppressors. We are at war, constantly, every hour of the day. We are winning, and more of our elf brothers and sisters join us with victory,” he said proudly, and said the most obscure, deadliest word in the elvish language – the word for elf-war. I saw the bloodthirsty glint in his eye, and shuddered as I remembered what little of it I had seen. “But the wizards have adapted, and our victories come at a cost. We must find ways past their magic.”

“I see,” I nodded, imagining the pitched magical battles raging through the tunnels and chambers of the secret Russian wizard institutions, “But why us?” 

“Yesterday they created a new squad of wizards to destroy the Svobodny El-fov. One of their most powerful elf-hunters wears this object around his neck. We have researched it, and an hour before I came to this country we discovered that it was constructed years ago by Professor Doctor Grey.”

“Your English is very good,” observed William.

“Yes. This is why I was chosen to lead this mission.”

“Lead the mission? There are more of you here?” he asked.

“There are more of us here,” nodded Yarost, “They are distracting the hunters as we speak.”

“The hunters are here too?!” William said, surprised. I could see a panic starting to sparkle in his eye. 

“We were followed here,” I said, also starting to grow slightly concerned.

“Well, we should be safe in here,” William said, “My house is protected by very strong enchantments.”

“It is no wonder I could not find it myself,” Yarost said.

“Why are we still talking? William, what is that thing?” I said, pointing at the piece of paper.

“Give me a second. I need to figure this out,” he said, peering at the scribbled symbols. He took out his wand and started to move them around, and the drawing was soon swirling on the page, chains of equations and symbols snaking across the page.

“Master, a second may be too long,” added Hoppy. Yarost looked at her, aghast, and then stared back at William.

“I know, I’m sorry. But it’s hard to figure out what I’m looking at. I presume these are the engravings?” he said of Yarost, who looked from Hoppy to William and back again with astonishment.

“Y-yes, I think so,” he said.

“Well, it looks like an apparating-forbiddance field. See?” he said, pointing out the symbols that glowed as his wand touched them, “This sets up the sub-matter pulse at a frequency preventing inter-particulate wormholes. Whoever tried to apparate into this region would be pulverised, I imagine.”

“You imagine? Didn’t you  _ make _ it?” Hoppy exclaimed. None of us were trying to follow his highly technical babble.

“Yes. But I must have been drunk or insane or something. There’s no owner-override conditional modifier. It would also annihilate the person it’s supposed to be protect if they were absent-minded enough to try apparating inside the field. This must have been something black-market, there’s no way I’d build this for the Aurors.”

“What actually  _ is _ it?” I said, trying to bring him to the point.

“You don’t remember? You probably brought me the request to build it, after all,” William said to me.

“So what is it?” I pushed, ignoring him.

“It was a silver amulet, designed to prevent anyone suddenly apparating behind you. I wonder how it found its way to Russia. I can see why the elf-hunters would find it useful,” he muttered.

“Sounds more like something I’d need than something I’d sell,” I said.

“How do we… what did you say? Override it,” Yarost demanded.

“Well,” William mused, “That is the queston, isn’t it. I designed it to be fool-proof. Dangerously fool-proof if I’m reading this right.”

“No,” I said, “The real question is what’s in it for us. Yarost, why should we do this for you?”

“We?” joked William, but we ignored him.

“I have other technical documents with which to secure your services,” Yarost said with a haughty, proud demeanour.

“Other technical documents?” I asked.

“Details of every military project being researched or developed by our would-be oppressors. We have infiltrated every institution, facility and establishment. That is my currency. I will pay you based on the level of help you are able to offer.”

“Now you’re talking my language,” I said, allowing myself to grin enthusiastically.

“English?” Yarost said, and I had to laugh. The elf looked terrified at the noise.

“I assume you’ve got a sample of these technical documents?” I said. Yarost tugged two more pieces of paper from the pouches on his belt and offered it to me. I took it, glanced at the ridiculously complex drawing, and handed it to William, who began peering at it, flicking from one sheet to the other.

“Much more complicated,” mused William, and we all waited expectantly for him to say something else.

“Yarost, you look very jumpy,” Hoppy said softly. He looked at her uncertainly.

“The wizards were very cruel to all of the elves, from what I saw,” I explained to her.

“But you are free now, I understand?” she said. She summoned a small glass into her hand and poured herself a glass of brandy from the bottle on the sideboard. Yarost watched her, once more astonished, glancing at William with paranoia.

“Yes. And you? I have heard there are other free elves here,” he said.

“I’ve been free for years,” she said proudly, “I was brought over from the Beauxbatons kitchens to be a personal chef for a wizard, but Master Grey bought me from him and then freed me.”

“And… you turned back? You went back to being a slave?” Yarost asked her, confused.

“No, no, Master Grey hired me as his housekeeper,” explained Hoppy. I had to bite back my laughter as I looked around the room, piled with books and dark with dust, littered with empty bottles, scribbled notes and screwed up papers. Quills were stuck into a dart board on one wall, and there was a mysterious stain down the back of the door.

“You are paid money?” Yarost asked.

“Oui!” said Hoppy happily.

“For this?” he said as he gestured around at the filthy room.

“Well, this is how the master likes it,” she said, “I try to clean and tidy as much as I can, or I assist with his work sometimes. Mainly I cook for him.”

“And I highly recommend that you try her cooking,” William said without glancing up from the pages in front of him, “It’s absolutely excellent. I have never eaten a more delicious croissant.”

“I do not intend to stay,” said Yarost, frowning at William and then turning back to Hoppy, “What do you do with your money?” he asked her shyly, spinning the sword in his hands.

“Well, I save a little for myself,” she said, sipping at her drink and hiccupping happily, “The rest of my money goes into the Elf Liberation Fund.”

“The Elf…?” he asked, trying to keep up with her French accent.

“Liberation Fund, yes. The English elves started it, but it’s starting to become more fashionable in France as well. Every free elf saves up to buy the others out of slavery in turn.”

“That will take so long,” Yarost said.

“We have been slaves for aeons. What’s a few more years?” said Hoppy rhetorically, shrugging nonchalantly.

“You English are a very strange people,” he said to her.

“Again, I stress that I am French, mon amis,” she said with a kind smile, “Try the brandy.”

“It is… good?” said Yarost, picking up the glass from his lap.

“It’s very strong. Just have a little bit,” she told him. He tried it, wincing at the alcohol and coughing deeply, keeping his sword steady and the glass level. He smacked his lips and blinked his eyes.

I admired the English elves patience. Their revolution was slow and peaceful, it made few enemies and it had no victims. Through contracts, whispers, hard work and stoicism they would free their whole race. From the sound of it, the Russian elf’s revolution would be stopped in its tracks before it went much further and posed any more of a risk to the powerful wizards and witches. I supposed it would happen even quicker if William gave them the knowledge they needed for more effective attacks. Even if every elf went free, I doubted very much that the Russian wizards would let them go – especially if they had the secrets of their research and development.

“You have poisoned me!” Yarost said in shock.

“No, see, it’s good,” said Hoppy, drinking her own glass of Brandy, “It makes you warm inside. But it’ll make you dizzy and irresponsible, so be warned,” she told him.

Suddenly William sat upright in his chair with alarm, staring at first one piece of paper then the other. He waved them in the air, a slightly manic expression in his eye.

“Good grief! Do you know what this means?”

“Oh, so you can immediately understand someone else’s plans but not your own?” I said.

“Well, I don’t understand it all, but these symbols here, they’re instantly recognisable. It’s the setup for the Killing Curse,” he said, in a hushed tone, “Whatever it is, it uses Avada Kadavra.”

“How do you know what they look like? The symbols?” I asked, digesting this information.

“I had to study the workings of it while I was an Auror Support technician. We could never find a charm to protect against the fucking thing,” he whispered, looking back down at the pieces of paper in his hands. They were shaking slightly now, and he put the parchment on the table amidst the clutter. He picked up the first piece of paper, with his own design for an apparating-proof amulet. He stared intently at the symbols and then looked up at Yarost, “I’ll need several hours, but I’ll come up with something. Whatever those other designs are, I need to see them.”

“Agreed. I must check in with my comrades. Hopefully none of them have died,” he said, without a trace of irony or sarcasm, “I suggest we meet somewhere else. In the next few hours, my remaining comrades will set up other fake meetings to cover my presence here. If I return, they will definitely connect you with our people. We should meet somewhere else. Somewhere secure. Do you know anywhere we can use?” he asked me.

“Well, I know dozens,” I said, “There is an old warehouse in Wapping. I’ll show you on a map. William, you have a map of London, right?”

“Hoppy, pass them the map, would you?” said William, looking up from the piece of paper that described the amulet. Hoppy sighed and reached onto the table, passing the London A-Z to me over the two feet distance between us. “Oh right, that’s where it is,” said William, abashed, and Hoppy grinned at me.

“Organised chaos, he says,” she said.

I showed Yarost where the warehouse was, right on the Thames and easily found, even in the darkness. He told William that he would expect both William and me there at dawn to update him on our progress. We agreed, and Yarost vanished into thin air, leaving only a tiny mark on the floor where his sword had dug into the bare wood at the border of the rug.

“You know,” Hoppy said quietly, “He was quite a sweet man, really.”

The evening went slowly after that. William retreated into his workshop, a place I had visited only once. Both me and Hoppy were forbidden for the whole night, so I settled down into the living room to wait. I didn’t want to leave the house in case those ominous-sounding elf-hunters were still lurking around outside. If Yarost’s various plans had worked then the hunters would have left us long alone, but I didn’t want to risk it. I slept lightly on William’s sofa while Hoppy fussed, making me a bacon roll even though I insisted I just wanted to sleep. As William had promised, her cooking was fantastic, even something as simple as bacon in a bap.

“The secret is that I have made the bread myself,” she said, looking immensely pleased.

“I tried your bacon sandwiches a while back, on the journey to Russia. William had some in the car with him, and offered them around,” I said, trying not to spray crumbs around.

“Bah, nonsense, that was old bread and they had been wrapped in foil. I received no notice that he would be travelling. Would you like anything to drink? A nice relaxing herbal tea?”

“Well, since you’re offering,” I smiled, unable to resist her stubborn generosity and kitchen prestige.

Suddenly there was an explosion upstairs from the workshop. The windows rattled and plaster dust was shaken down from the ceiling. The book shelves creaked ominously, and the lighting fixture flickered. I looked at Hoppy, alarmed.

“I wouldn’t worry,” she said, the lack of sleep thickening her accent, “The house is enchanted, not to allow the neighbours to notice the magical operations and such.”

“But will he be alright?” I asked, gazing up at the ceiling.

“He will emerge in time, not to worry. If there is screaming, we will go and check on him. But otherwise…” she shrugged, “He is always ‘grumpy’ while he is working. And he is at his most grumpy after an explosion,” she reassured me.

 

*

 

The warehouse is an old, damp, rundown, abandoned structure that is due to be renovated into luxury flats for muggles inside of a year. But for our purposes, the half-finished construction, lack of lighting and limited entrances were perfect. William and I arrived shortly before dawn, and once more I felt that sensation of being watched. I was sure agents of the Svobodny El-fov were lurking in the shadows of the street, or high on the surrounding rooftops in the dark sky, watching us. I led William into the warehouse and he set down the sack he was carrying on the dark, creaking wood. I magically summoned a lamp and hung it from some scaffolding to provide light for the whole space. I could hear the sound of the Thames lapping at the embankment beneath us. When it’s cold on the river, the Thames has a distinctive smell whose subtleties I have never encountered anywhere else. It smells organic and mouldy, but there is something of the freshness of the sea about it.

I had known the space would be freezing, and I had decided to quickly dash back to my place to pick up a garment that I had obtained from Russia. I don’t often get a chance to go out in it, because it’s a long werewolf-fur coat. But I had nothing warmer, and the pelt has a natural resistance to both grime and at least low-level magic. I worried that the elves might be offended, but there was no reason that they would know it was werewolf-fur and besides, I hadn’t killed the creature myself. It had been a gift from a man I had fallen out with almost immediately afterwards, on an unrelated matter. I also carried a short knife in my boot and a wand in my hand. I had a spare tucked inside the pocket of the coat. Bitter experience has taught me that I have trouble holding onto a wand – the Svobodny El-fov’s presence and the ominous suggestions of wizards hunting them were enough to make me at least slightly cautious.

William was pulling stones out of his sack. They were heavily engraved with deep, intricate symbols and ingrained with various precious minerals. He was laying them out in a circle, arranging them delicately.

“Whatever you do, don’t walk inside this circle, okay?”

“Why not? Are you suggesting it might be dangerous? For the elves? If the elves think that it’s dangerous then we won’t get anything valuable,” I said, suddenly panicking about what exactly William had been making all night.

“No, not dangerous, not at all. But I just don’t want you to disrupt anything, alright? Don’t traipse through in your big coat and mess up the arrangement,” he said. The long night had worn on him. His hair was singed, there was a deep grey baggy bruise under his eye and it seemed like he tasted something bad.

“What exactly are they?” I asked. But at that moment, Yarost appeared in the rafters.

He was clinging to the wood with a wild glare in his eyes. He seemed to be panting. There was blood dripping from his narrow rapier. I looked up at him, the light shining on the underside of his face was glinting off his teeth as he stared down at us. He sighed a heavy, shuddering breath that fogged in the air.

“Is everything okay?” William asked, alarmed.

“There were some troubles. We should be safe now. Distractions have been set in motion,” he told us, and vanished from the rafters to reappear in front of us. “What is this? You have had victory, too?” he asked, looking at the circular arrangement of stones.

“Yes. I think so. I think I’ve come up with a way to override the sub-matter pulse frequency. The energy discharged by an outgoing apparator is bundled up in inter-particle space and carried through the wormhole architecture  _ with _ the traveller, activating a spatial distortion at the point of… well, I suppose you could call it entry. My first trial would have worked but it was the sheer physicality of the charms on the amulet that defeated it. Now, this enchanted circle of stones, right here, not only performs all the energy-bundling and extra-spatial navigation with the added payload, but the materials I’ve used are more powerful than anything the original amulet contains.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, snapping at William despite having been patient throughout his long, rambling explanation.

“Yes, what?” demanded Yarost.

“It’ll get you close to that amulet. And it’ll disrupt the amulet’s field long enough that others can appparate close to it, as well. This circle of stones overrides the amulet permanently, rendering it useless.”

“Forever?” said Yarost, an eager expression on his bloodthirsty face.

“Forever,” agreed William.

“Now, what is this worth to you?” I interjected. Having heard his explanation, and seen his poor, naïve face betray his enthusiasm, I was pretty sure I could name my price. He only gets like that when something definitely works.

“Everything!” said Yarost, and several other elves appeared around us. I had my wand out as fast as they appeared, having expected something like this. I pointed it at one of them as it tugged something out of its belt. The elves all delivered sheets of paper onto the damp floor, while more filtered down from the rafters where elves had been hiding.

As soon as they appeared, the elves vanished again, leaving over a hundred sheets of paper lying on the damp wooden floor. William hurried to gather them all up, clutching them to his chest and making sure each was decently dry.

“We need to make sure they’re the real thing,” I told Yarost while William peered at one with his wide, tired, bloodshot eye shining in the light.

“And you need to explain how to arrange these stones,” the elf said, his pleased voice managing to echo through the space.

As William distractedly explained how to arrange the stones, often diverting onto strange magical esoteric knowledge, he also scanned quickly through the notes. He nodded at me occasionally, confirming their worth. But the feeling of being watched was getting worse. From somewhere I was sensing not just spectators, but danger. As Yarost tried to listen to William, I started staring into the deep shadows where the lantern-light wouldn’t reach. With my wand still in my hand, I paced through the space, pointing wand-light into the nooks and crannies between the old, structural wooden beams and through the plastic sheeting that covered the new scaffolding.

I walked silently, and beyond my own breathing I could hear the rafters in the high ceiling creaking as the elves shifted their weight, no doubt watching me. I could also, on the very faintest edge of my exceptional hearing, detect the breath of another figure. It was close to me in the gloom. I span around, and there a figure in the darkness.

It came towards me out of the shadows, It was a pair of cool blue eyes in a noble brow, with a small, tense mouth beneath the long nose. His bushy-but-elegant eyebrows seemed darker with the shadows cast by my wand from beneath. He was taller than me by a head, and his dark clothing concealed a familiar, scarred, and muscular body. In one hand he was holding a longsword, and in the other he had a wand pointed at me, his body arranged in a fierce combat posture. Around his neck there dangled a silver amulet that I did indeed seem to dimly recall.

“Lvov,” I breathed, nearly silently.

“Lucinda,” he whispered back, an air of satisfaction tainting his Russian accent.

Everything went very quickly again. Several objects were flying out of the darkness. A crossbow bolt shot towards his shoulder, but he was already casting a shield charm and deflecting it. An elf swung down from the shadows, and it was caught by the tail end of the shield charm, bouncing back off into the darkness with a squeal. He was already ducking as a short throwing knife span towards his back, and I was forced to quickly side-step it as it flew past both him and me.

“Fuck,” I swore, watching the elves’s continued attacks all being defended against. Lvov was firing out offensive spells now, and they shot off into the darkness, lighting rafters around them and impacting high in the warehouse in a shower of sparks. Two of them caught an elf who didn’t disappear quickly enough, exploding out of his shoulder as he screamed in pain and span to the floor.

I was running back the way I’d come, taking cover behind wooden beams and stacks of old bricks. It didn’t seem like Lvov was firing at me but I was wary of being caught by cross-fire as the elves continued. One of them tried to apparate close to him, to slit his throat from behind, but the amulet did its job and I heard the pained squeak and terrible squelch of a fatal splinching. Poor optimistic fool.

“William, Yarost, get out of here,” I shouted, “It’s Lvov, he’s one of the elf-hunters.” Yarost had already been gathering the stones into the sack, from the first noise of battle far across the warehouse. William was trying to hold onto the thick bundle of papers with one arm and point his wand with the other hand. “Don’t be stupid, just go,” I said.

“Don’t go anywhere!” Lvov boomed, emerging from behind a wooden beam. Elvish blood now dripped from his sword. He had his wand pointed at Yarost and growled something in Russian, to which Yarost responded with an angry hiss. William and I were both pointing our wands at him in turn.

“William, take the stuff and vanish,” I muttered, hoping the stand-off would last.

“Do not go,” Lvov switched back to English, “Place your wands and those papers on the floor.”

“And then you’ll let us go, right?” said William sarcastically, and I glanced at him angrily.

Yarost was hissing some more angry words, and he vanished suddenly. Rather than waste his time firing a spell at the now-empty space, Lvov darted to the side, putting his back suddenly against the wooden beam, which creaked. I was ducking, but Lvov was firing a spell at William. He was hit, and his cry was strangled as he froze, falling over backwards and landing on the wooden floor with a painful-sounding thump. I exclaimed in shock and shot spells back at Lvov.

“Yarost! Get him out of here!” I shouted.

“Very soon it will be impossible to apparate in this building. My men are setting up a forbiddance zone, Lucinda. Please surrender,” Lvov was shouting over me.

Yarost appeared, having presumably stashed the sack of magical rocks somewhere and returned for William. He tried to vanish with William in tow but the building’s enchantments had been finished, and they both reappeared right where they’d left from.

There was suddenly the noise of more fighting, and I peered out from behind my hiding place to see throwing knives raining down on Lvov, one after the other spiralling down at him from the rafters as an elf swung down and flung himself towards Lvov. The knives very nearly provided enough of a distraction, but Lvov made a gap in the swirls of his shield and thrust his longsword through it. The elf was impaled, crying out in pain and surprise as the steel ran through him. I took advantage of this to find a better hiding place, scurrying through the darkness to one of the stacks of bricks I’d hidden behind before. Yarost dragged William across the floor with great difficulty, another elf swinging down from the dark rafters to help his leader drag the frozen human. They hid him behind a stack of old grey bricks and peered out from their new shelter with wide eyes, faces flashing with both anger and fear.

If the elves could keep distracting him, I knew I could find a way to sneak out of the warehouse and escape. But then what about William? I heard another elf beginning an attack, but it quickly ended with a flash of magic and a scream. Blindingly bright firelight flickered across the walls, and I could smell burnt flesh and wood. I swore silently, terrified now that the building would be destroyed.

“This is madness,” I shouted, “Why don’t we talk about this?”

“These creatures are not worthy of words,” he shouted back angrily, and spells flew up into the rafters from his wand.

“What about me? Am I worth it?” I demanded angrily.

“You ransacked my school and stole my slaves!” he shouted back.

“I didn’t steal anything,” I snapped.

Fighting broke out again. One of the elves threw an axe at Lvov out of the darkness, which he knocked aside with a spell. But another of the elves had thrown a set of bolas at the wooden pillar itself – metal weights joined by a thin chain – and they wrapped and tangled themselves around the pillar, binding Lvov to it. His arms were trapped awkwardly, and while he tried to point his wand at one of the chain links without pointing it at himself an elf leapt from behind one of the far pillars and started running towards him, screaming something in Russian. Lvov shot a spell at him, but the elf rolled to the side without breaking his speed and the spell missed. The elf was nearly upon him by the time he shot off a second spell and froze the elf mid-stride. The creature toppled forwards, the dagger digging into the wood and anchoring his stiff form. Lvov returned to trying to free himself from the bolas while I shot magical ropes at him, tying him tighter to the wooden pillar.

“Release me!” he bellowed.

“Yarost, we need to take care of the men outside,” I shouted.

“You cannot trust these creatures!” he continued, “Release me, and I can save you from them!”

Yarost dropped down from the ceiling, next to me.

“My comrades are holding the men at the entrances. They look ready to destroy this building, but are waiting. Stay here and we shall deal with this man,” he said, spitting violent-sounding Russian curses into the air.

“Then what do you think he hoped to accomplish, by coming in here?” I asked the elf, who shrugged as he leapt to a wall and clambered up it, returning to the fight. There was a massive wooden crunch from where Lvov was tied up. I peered out from my hiding place and saw that the column had been severed. It was toppling backwards, dragging Lvov with it, but as it splintered he managed to free himself from the ropes and chains.

He landed on his feet and span in a full circle, protecting himself from another crossbow bolt and a thrown axe. He was trying to get to where the elves had hidden William. The elves were more intent on killing the hunter than protecting William, so it seemed that I would have to defend both my friend and my profit.

“Hold it,” I yelled at Lvov, who span as he shot a curse at an elf. “Why are you here?” I demanded, but he ignored me and turned back to William. “Hey!” I said, darting behind a wooden pillar but pursuing him across the warehouse.

From beneath our feet there was a sudden flame, the wood cracking and creaking, and the floor suddenly started to give way. I clung to the wooden pillar, my back to the wood, watching where the cracks appeared and the planks fell into the river. The elves had started to destroy the warehouse of their own accord, desperate to kill the hunter. Sure enough, if they claimed victory here tonight, it would come at a high cost. Lvov was firing shots out randomly, providing enough chaos to keep the elves from attacking him while his footing was uncertain. I tried to dart past him but one of the spells caught my hand and sent my wand spinning away, through one of the new holes in the floor and into the river water. Nevertheless, I continued across the space, dodging across the treacherous terrain to avoid Lvov’s random spells to stand between him and William. I put my hands up in a peaceful surrender.

“Let’s just talk, okay?” I said defiantly and shouted the elvish word for waiting and patience. They ceased to attack, lurking in the rafters and peering out from where they clung behind wooden pillars. Lvov kept firing out random spells until he realised I had stopped their attacks briefly.

“So, you really do command them,” he said triumphantly.

“Don’t be stupid. They’re free elves. I don’t command them and I didn’t steal them. Now, tell me why you came in here rather than just vaporising the warehouse with all of us inside.”

“I… I came to retrieve the papers. My government needs to know how much the elves have stolen, and how far their corruption has reached.”

“And there was nothing else?” I asked, smiling slyly and taking a step towards him. He was looking around warily at the elves still staring at him, unblinking, in the darkness.

“No,” he hesitated, “There was nothing else,” he stammered, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

“I think you’ve been following me since last night. I think you came in here to make sure you got me out safely. I think you were a bloody idiot,” I said, smiling, and taking another step towards him.

“You must move out of the way. I must kill the man who has read our secrets.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll fight you for him,” I said, not adding that I was also fighting for the value of whatever secrets meant that William had to die.

“I sent your wand away,” he said, his eyes flickering around awkwardly.

“Who says I’ll fight with a wand?” I grinned, and then he finally made eye contact with me. His blue eyes were still burning with the fury of battle.

“I will not let you stop me,” he growled.

“There must be something you want. Something Russia can’t give you,” I whispered, “Why don’t you emigrate? You could start working for the Ministry. I’m sure they’d be thankful for anything you can tell them.”

“Do you like the coat?” he said softly.

“It was very generous of you,” I said, slightly taken back by this sudden conversational change.

“I hunted and killed that monster myself. It is one of my proudest trophies,” he said, his eyes roving over my body intensely. I took advantage of this and started to stroke it, almost absent-mindedly. I watched his eyes darken, following my hands as they moved over the coat, pushing it aside as I did so.

“I like to stroke it,” I said quietly, “It reminds me of you.”

“In your country,” Lvov growled, “You have no such things. Your wizards are weak, you invite monsters into your home, and let creatures such as these sit at your table as if they are equal. None of you have felt the luxury of wearing their pelts.”

“So, you’re saying there’s nothing here for you?” I asked softly, taking another step and looking up into his eyes, barely a few feet from him now.

“I would never betray my government,” he said, but his tone was uncertain.

“I think you’re confused, Daniil. I think you’ve been confused all of your life. Your family and culture has filled your head with a distorted version of reality,” I said softly, taking another step and reaching out to touch his shoulder. “There is a difference between weakness and compassion. Some things are better when they’re hard and strong, obviously, but grace and kindness have their place, surely? What’s so wrong with being soft, Daniil?” I asked, taking another step forwards, pushing myself against him, running my hand from his shoulder down his chest. “Soft, warm and wet,” I said, and his blue eyes bore into mine. I could see the blood starting to heat up in his cheeks.

“I suppose-” he began, but with my other hand I had dug out my spare wand.

I had purchased it from a stall vendor in Diagon Alley several weeks ago. It lacked the tailored, personal touch of a master like Ollivander, or even an amateur like William, and it didn’t perform perfectly whenever I had practised. While Lvov’s guard was down I had intended to paralyze or petrify him, but instead the wand disarmed him, sending his wand flying out into the darkness of the warehouse to land in some dusty corner, or plunge into the Thames to keep mine company.

I darted backwards quickly, taking advantage of the second of surprise to escape the reach of his sword.

“Betrayer!” he roared, and started to lunge at me, but the elves had seen their chance and were attacking again. I watched him try to fend them off with just his sword and a dagger from his boot but it was difficult. He had to dance and weave exhaustingly to avoid the projectiles, while elves flung their tiny bodies at him and clung to his clothing. I ducked behind where Yarost had hidden William.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, but it was mostly pointless since he could only move his eye. It seemed like he was trying to say something, so I leaned my head in closely to his mouth.

“The stones,” he was creaking like the tin man from the wizard of Oz.

“Yarost has the stones,” I reminded him, not seeing the point.

“We can get out inside the circle,” he croaked, each syllable difficult.

“Yarost!” I shouted. The elf soon scurried over to where I was crouching over William. I asked him whether my having helped to disarm Lvov was worth letting us use the stone circle to apparate away and escape, and he agreed to it. The sack with the stones was hidden high on the rooftop of the building, though, and it would take him time to retrieve it.

Lvov was losing his fight against the elves. His sword was dripping with their blood but his skin was scratched and clawed. Their tiny bodies had started to litter the warehouse, but he was showing signs of exhaustion. He called out something in Russian, bellowing to his men outside. The elves doubled their attacks against him while wizards in the same dark uniform as him rushed into the building, their heavy boots clomping over the wood, making it shake. Spells were flying as the elves took cover behind the increasingly splintered columns, calling to each other and quickly discussing new tactics. I ducked back, expecting in the next few moments to see the elves massacred.

Yarost returned with the bag of stones, setting up the circle quickly around William and I. He explained the instructions very briefly, and I hoped William had taught him properly. In the bangs, whizzes and explosions of the battle behind the stack of bricks, an idea occurred to me suddenly.

“William, if we escape through this circle, will the elves be able to apparate too? Anywhere inside the building? Look up for yes and down for no,” I asked quickly as Yarost put down the last stone. His eye flicked upwards. I looked at Yarost, who was suddenly grinning with returned bloodlust and confidence. He laughed as he put the last stone in place, leapt into the circle and apparated us out into the street.

 

*

 

We were far away from the warehouse, almost at a point where the road bent and we could disappear behind some buildings. Yarost vanished the instant we arrived, back into the battle inside the building. I could have taken William immediately to the hospital, but I waited. William seemed to be recovering from the petrification spell on his own, and I wanted to pay the last respects of a moment to the elves that were dying in the warehouse. But the warehouse, far away down the street, was shuddering and waving like no building should. The walls creaked and cracked violently, and behind the wooden boards the remaining glass in the windows shattered. Throwing out a great cloud of dust, the building splashed noisily backwards from the street, toppling into the water of the river. The elves must have sliced away at the wooden pillars supporting the whole building. There were lights coming on in all the flats around the street, and in the sudden, bright, domestic light I could see no other wizards standing around the warehouse. I assumed all of the men must have hurried inside to help Lvov, and had been by his side when the building collapsed. The fools had rushed into a building they themselves had just been preparing to destroy.

Maybe some of his men would have escaped, apparating out of the building, but it would have been impossible for him if he’d been wearing the amulet. But maybe the charm on the amulet had broken when Yarost had apparated through forbiddance of the warehouse itself. Or if not, maybe Yarost had gone back, straight into the circle, and then apparated onto Lvov’s back, breaking the amulets charm that way. Maybe both of them had been gripped in a deadly struggle as they apparated out, leaving the doomed warehouse. As more lights came on in the street, though, and a siren started to approach from somewhere on the dark river, I realised that William and I were both alive, had a fortune in smuggled Russian war-plans and that we needed to evade the muggle police. As the noise of sirens started to multiply, coming from all directions and all the streets, I took hold of William’s petrified arm and we vanished into thin air.

The waiting room of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is a fairly hilarious place. Due to the chaotic nature of magic, there’s always something ridiculous to take your mind off any unfortunate circumstance of your own. One of the wizards across the room had a plant sprouting out of his hair, growing so fast that he had to keep chopping its growth back unless he suffocated. A witch with smoke pouring out from under her night dress was pacing around, refusing the requests of the Healer at the front desk to sit down. There was also a stressed-looking mother with her daughter who had ridiculously large horns sprouting out of her head – the mother kept tentatively touching the sharp tips of the horns and then tutting, having finished scolding her daughter long ago. With the help of a passing Healer I had propped William against one of the seats and sat next to him, trying to recover from the extraordinary experience. I had also tried to pull the papers out of his hands, but his frozen fingers were clinging onto them too tightly.

Eventually one of the Healers came to inspect William and tried to quickly disenchant him, but the Russian spell was something the Healer had never seen before and William had to be moved to a bed in one of the wards. I was starting to feel the toll of the long night, and I dozed off in the chair next to his bed. After trying several different techniques to disenchant him, his skin turned green and his eye started to cry blood. Several more Healers were summoned and each tried several different things, each more experimental, until they finally unfroze him. Since his skin was still green and his ears were pouring smoke, they decided to keep him in the bed for several hours for further observation.

“I need you to do something important,” he told me in a croaky voice, since for five minutes he had been choking on tiny seashells. He flexed his arms and fingers gladly, as if remembering old friends. He was pulling odd facial expressions as the dexterity came back to his muscles.

“What is it?” I asked, watching his legs twitch beneath the bed covers.

“I need you to make sure the Ministry sees those plans,” he said, pointing at the papers in my hands.

“They will.”

“They’ll pay anything you ask,” he told me, and I grinned, looking down at the symbols and random drawings in my hands.

“What are they?”

“From what I can make out, it’s all sorts of ambitious, incredibly dark mechanisms. One of them is a gigantic cannon. It’s based on the same principles that I used when I was developing the moon launch enchantments. Only it doesn’t enchant light, it curses it. The machine twists energy into a spell and sends it shooting through the sky with a very specific targeting technique so that it never misses. In theory you could fire out any spell,” he rasped, his voice apparently causing him pain, “But they’ve cursed it with Avada Kedabra.”

“So, they can basically shoot pure death?” I asked, not yet appreciating the full consquences of what he was saying.

“From the other side of the world, they can shoot pure death,” he agreed. “They can eradicate every living being in a building, leaving the building standing. Gringotts, or the Ministry, or Hogwarts. Or this hospital,” he said, looking around him with his bloodshot eye in terror.

“Why would they do that?” I asked, starting to share his feelings.

“The same reason anyone would design and build that thing,” he said, nodding at the papers in my hands, “Because they can, and because they’re evil.”

“You said there’s no spell to shield against the Killing Curse.”

“There isn’t,” he said. “Get the plans to the Ministry. Make them pay, yes, fine. But most of all, make them understand, okay?” he demanded. I said I would, and he relaxed back onto the pillow in a cloud of ear-smoke.

I sent a letter to a contact of mine from the Ministry while I was leaving St Mungo’s, and watched the owl fly off into the bright morning light. I blinked sleepily, and decided to call at my flat to wash my face and change my clothes before I went to the Ministry. There would be a long, strenuous negotiation, and with material like this no doubt my loyalty to my country would be called into question. I also had no intention of walking into the Ministry wearing a highly immoral and probably illegal werewolf-fur coat.

I was practically falling asleep on my feet as I walked up the stairs to my flat. I live in a very muggle-heavy area, far from any wizarding locations, because I like my privacy and the anonymity. I unlocked my front door and pushed it open, swinging one arm out of the fur coat as I went. It was in this compromising position, with my coat half-off and my door key in my hand, that I was taken by surprise and hit with a spell. I was immediately bound up with magical ropes, falling forwards with one hand behind me and my door key sticking out in front of me. It dug into the wood of my floor and I rolled over onto my side with the impact. I hadn’t appreciated until now how much this sort of thing hurt. I was pretty sure I’d banged my forehead, and my chest hurt too, but I was still trying to process everything.

I looked up and saw Lvov standing in the doorway, walking into my flat having apparated behind me out of nowhere. Clearly his amulet had been discarded, for one reason or another. I squirmed desperately in my ropes, trying to work my wand out of its pocket, but it was useless. He gently closed the door behind him and slid the bolt across. I said nothing, waiting for him to say something first.

“I survived,” he said eventually, frostily.

“Where did you get a wand from?”

“I took it from one of my dead men,” he said angrily.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, my mind now back up to speed and racing ahead in the conversation to try and think of a way out of this. “I don’t quite see why you’re here, though,” I said, managing to wiggle myself up into a sitting position.

“You killed my men,” he said, and I could tell he was going to vent a lot of anger before this was over.

“No, I didn’t. The elves killed your men.”

“You freed the elves!” he said through gritted teeth.

“You were awful to them,” I said calmly. “Are you a student of history, by any chance? Have you read any of the history books?”

“Yes, of course-” he started.

“Well then,” I interrupted, “You’ll know about the goblin rebellion, right?”

“Your country was weak and you allowed yourselves to be… harassed by vermin,” he said angrily, but the balance of power had shifted, at least in the conversation.

“No, our country was cruel and finally pissed off even  _ goblins _ to the point where they could stand no more. And you know about the centaur wars?”

“What? No,” he said, anger giving way to confusion.

“Well, no, you wouldn’t,” I said, and of course he wouldn’t because I was making it up now, “The centaurs were sick of being treated like pack beasts so they revolted, throwing off their powerful magical shackles and waged a terrible war. They were only appeased by the creation of reservations that they could live on peacefully. Are you starting to see a pattern?” I said, patronisingly.

“What?”

“If you treat a creature with cruelty, even a dog, it will eventually bite your hand. It will be frightened, angry and confused, and it will react from sheer instinct. Or if it’s smarter, it will plot and scheme for years until it finally has a chance. This is a universal law of nature,” I took a deep breath and he was about to say something else but I continued, “The abused will eventually try to rise up.”

“It is the duty of the weak to serve the strong,” Lvov said, uncertainly repeating a tired old slogan.

“And you think the elves are weak, do you? How many of your men have they killed? How many of your countrymen? And have you stopped them? With all your so-called strength and power?” I demanded, leaning forward angrily but still tied up.

“It is only a matter of time,” he said, but he was at least confused. I was getting through to him.

“One way or another, yes,” I said, “But you see my point, right?” I said, and cut him off before he could say anything, “It’s not my fault that you were so evil and cruel to your elves. It’s not my fault the priorities of your country are so distorted!”

“It is your nation that is distorted,” he said.

“My country isn’t being assaulted by naturally magical creatures with a fierce bloodlust, is it?” I said, leaning back satisfactorily.

“Where are the plans?” he said, finally coming over to me and leaning down. I looked him in the eye with a calm, level gaze.

“You’re being passive aggressive,” I said, “Do you know what that means? You’re purposefully ignoring the issue when you know you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong! Where are the papers the elves gave you?” he said, pulling out a short dagger and pointing it at my face. I had enough presence of mind to still control my face, and I looked down at it with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m not saying another thing until you apologise,” I said, wiggling until I could sit back against the wall, relaxing into it. I discovered I was leaning against the radiator, but it wasn’t on.

“Apologise?” he said.

“Yes. This grudge you’re holding against me. You’re projecting your own mistakes onto me.”

“Projecting?”

“Blaming me for something that’s your own fault,” I explained smoothly, “You’re always going on about strength and power, but you’re not man enough to apologise. You’re like a little boy, caught out when he’s done something wrong and blaming everyone around you rather than taking responsibility.”

“Taking responsibility?” he snapped, “I was taken from my school and put in charge of this highly dangerous mission to stop the Svobodny El-Fov with just a handful of men. I am a decorated duellist and highly accomplished wizard. This job is itself a dishonour for me!”

“Boo-hoo,” I said sarcastically, “You still owe me an apology.”

This flippancy was misjudged. It angered him so much, so quickly, that he raised his hand and slapped the back of his hand across my face. I squealed in sudden pain and surprise, finding myself staring down at the floor. I looked up at him angrily and the startled, guilty look in his eyes told me everything. He recovered quickly, adopting the face of a vengeance-obsessed maniac. But I could see something else in his eyes. My face stung as I flexed my jaw.

“Now you owe me two,” I said, darkly.

“Tell me where the plans are or I will owe you three,” he said, trying to stare me down.

“So you admit to the first two then?” I grinned, and I saw a flicker of entertainment in his icy blue eyes. “Come on now, we had some good times, didn’t we?” I said.

“I believe your country has a saying. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,” he said, and there was a slight smile.

“I think you have a thing about shame,” I said, “Maybe that’s why you tried to save me in the warehouse.”

“What?” he said, suddenly taken aback.

“I don’t believe for a second that you went in to find out how much the elves knew. You went in for me. You went in to make sure I’d be safe, I suppose, or to take me away with you. Well, here I am,” I wiggled again, “All tied up like a present. This fur coat is nice, but it’s really hot. Why don’t you unwrap me?” I purred.

He actually growled before he got up, striding away into my kitchen. I could see him peering at the fridge like it was an alien artefact. He huffed, and then ran some water into the sink to splash his face with. Despite my predicament, I grinned to myself and wondered where all this would lead. I was staring at him through my eyelashes when he returned and knelt in front of me, his posture slouched.

“Listen, I just want the plans.”

“You know, about what I did in the warehouse,” I said, “When I distracted you, and sent your wand flying. I have to admit that I feel slightly bad about it. You understand my position, right?”

“Where are the papers?” he pushed.

“I mean, you were threatening my friend. Again. I won’t let anything happen to someone I care about. That’s why I made the elves stop attacking you,” I said hesitantly, and I was rewarded with his softened expression. I struggled against my ropes again, almost involuntarily – the awkward posture was making me genuinely uncomfortable. I tried to carry it off and it appeared I succeeded, because he was looking down at my body again, what little he could see beneath the tightly-bound coat. “If it had been a different situation, who knows what might have happened?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking back to my face.

“You said it yourself. You’re highly accomplished, you’re proud and noble, and from what I remember you’re excellent with your  _ wand _ ,” I said breathily.

“Fool me once,” he repeated, leaning in so closely.

“I’m not trying to fool you,” I said softly, leaning closer to his body. He hesitated, looking at my exposed leg and then back to my face, drinking in my eyes, my overheated, blushing cheeks, my flushed neck and wet lips.

“Look at me,” I purred, “I’m helpless.”

That was the tipping point. He leaned in and kissed me on the lips, suddenly, fiercely, passionately. It took me by surprise but I rallied quickly and kissed him back. I felt his long elegant face against mine, and the energy of his lips and tongue, as we pushed against each other clumsily, spontaneously. He groaned with desire, and I felt it more than I heard it.

Suddenly there was an explosion. The front door of my flat exploded inwards, showering the hallway in shards and splinters of thick wood. The lock bounced off the radiator with a deafening clang, scarily close to my head. Spells were flying wildly through the wood-dust left in the door’s wake, and I looked up to see a gang of wizards pointing their wands at Lvov. His body was already frozen, having been hit with a petrifying spell. His eyes were desperately straining against the confines of their sockets, trying to see who had cursed him, but his head wouldn’t turn. His lips were frozen against mine, and as he started to keel over he looked at me. He looked astonished and afraid.

“What?” I whispered, and his eyes seemed to echo my sentiment.

“Are you alright?” said a familiar voice, striding through the smoke of the spells and explosion.

“What?” I said again, much louder, looking down at Lvov’s frozen body.

“Miss Baker, it’s me, Bradley,” said the new wizard. I remembered the bald head and thick black beard as belonging to the man who had been my associate on the trip to Russia. “Are you alright?” he repeated. Other aurors were coming in through the doorway now, pointing their wands around, covering all the exposed angles and making sure my kitchen, bathroom and bedroom were clear of enemies. I could hear others already talking to the muggles downstairs. “I got your letter,” Bradley was still talking, “And I immediately knew you’d need protection. It turns out I was right,” he said smugly.

“Fuck,” I swore to myself. I looked down at Lvov’s prone body as they untied me, wondering what would become of him.


End file.
